I’ve always considered myself an old soul. Wise in many ways. I enjoy a stout or a nice glass of whiskey over wine or a fufu Cosmo. I enjoy a good debate over life’s mysteries over the latest show of Housewives. I don’t lose my composure and I certainly don’t get drunk and act like a fool.
But last night? What the fuck?
I can’t even give myself a reasonable excuse for what happened last night.
Last night was not me.
Ever.
I drill holes into my brain, trying to dig up any reason on why I got so drunk. I don’t want to make excuses, but I was just happy. That sounds fucking sappy, I know. But I was. Chase has been putting this warmth in my life ever since he landed in it. Not just the warmth down below but in general. My days have been brighter with his calls, our talks, our insanely hot FaceTime sessions. And it feels so goddamn liberating. There, I said it.
He’s making me feel wanted. Needed. As if this gigantic weight is being lifted off me. I was less in cruise control of life and more living in the now.
The problem with living in the now, right now, is that I think Chase hates me. And right now, I feel horrible.
Per my call log, I tried calling him back.
A billion fucking times.
Oops.
I wanted to try again for the billion and one, but I decided to crawl off the floor and shower before I did so. I thought about putting Gerdie on my shoulder to ease the blow if he tells me he’s done with me or in the other case realizes that Ellie needs him, so he can’t get rid of me.
The fourth ring sounds and I’m convinced it’s going to drop, when the connecting sign lights up. My heart instantly picks up, and I debate on hanging up. But then that beautiful face that I dream about day and night pops up.
“Hey,” I say softly, not sure what I’m walking in to.
“What do you want, Katie?” he replies, sounding tired.
The first name only hurts. Taking a big gulp, I tuck my tail between my legs. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night.”
“You don’t owe me any apology.”
I kind of agree.
“But I do. I know when you called it looked bad. But it’s not how it was. Dex is my boss. He was just trying to help me.”
“I don’t need an explanation.”
“But apparently you do because you seem to be mad at me.” And to be honest I’m not sure he has the right to be. Yeah, it looked like more was going on when Dex had me in his arms, but let’s address the fact here that Chase and I are nothing. We’ve never said what we are to one another. Yeah, there has been that high school banter and wedding planning for Gerdie and Ellie. But at the end of the day we are just us.
“Look, I just called last night because I saw the video and before it cut off it looked like you had fallen off the bar.”
It did?
“I guess I didn’t realize what kind of bar you worked at.”
Whoa, wait a minute.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I watch him throw his hands roughly through his hair.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Fuck it wasn’t. What, do you have a problem with where I work? Unhappy it’s not the Ritz? I work at a bar, Chase. Dive bar actually.”
“That’s not what I meant, Katie.”
“Then what did you mean? Because it sounded pretty much like you were judging where I work. Listen, I told you from the start. I’m not someone you go for. You should have listened to me from the get-go.” I’m picking up the volume of my voice. I refuse to acknowledge that he isn’t wearing a shirt and his hair is sticking up in that sexy, I just rolled out of bed style.
“Would you stop putting words in my mouth?”
“No, Chase, I’m not putting words in your mouth, I’m stating facts. And I guess you’re finally realizing I’m not for you.”
“Goddammit, Katie, you are—”
Something behind him cuts him off, as he twists on his couch.
“Hey, babe, I used the key—”
“I gotta go.”
And he disconnects.
What the fuck?
Chase hung up on me.
He never called me back to explain.
And who the fuck walked into his place?
I’m currently the walking statistic I wrote about in my book, because I mope around my house waiting for him to call me back. The problem is, he doesn’t.
My mood plummets, and even when I order enough Chinese food for my entire building it still doesn’t spark an ounce of happiness out of me. Two pounds of Lo Mein noodles and a marathon of Dexter later, and I just want to grab a random stranger walking down the street and wrap them in saran wrap and stab the fucking shit out of them!
Okay.
Back to sanity.
I need to get out of my apartment, but it’s my day off, so I can’t go to the bar. Nor do I really feel like facing Dex. End result might be me wrapped up in the saran wrap. I take another shower, since I smell like soy sauce, and do laundry. I clean Gerdie’s cage and organize my Converse shoes by color. Black, black, black, blac—
The sound of my phone buzzing has me throwing myself out of my closet, tripping over my laundry basket.
“Fuck,” I grunt hitting the floor, scraping my knees in the process. Getting back up, I make it to my nightstand and grab my phone.
Kristen’s name fills the screen.
Disappointment etched all over my face, I release the breath I was holding captive and answer.
“Hey, girl.” I head back into my closet.
“Hey. How you feeling?”
“Like a million bucks, that’s been trampled on and burned.”
“So, you feel like beaten ash?” she asks, trying to figure out my animism.
“Sure, that. What’s up?” I sit Indian style, deciding to change up the order of the shoes, oldest to newest.
“Well, I saw the video last night. Wanted to make sure you’re nursing that hangover I bet you have.”
“Pfft. No hangover a life-size order of Lo Mein won’t cure,” I say, taking my shoe rack and dumping all the pairs into my lap. This way I can go by the feel. Some shoes have been with me longer. Lasted through a lot. They mean more to me than the newer ones that I’m still on the fence about—
“Okay, so then what’s up with you and Dex? I thought you two were history?”
That gets my full attention. “What do you mean, Dex? Nothing’s going on. That was ages ago.”
She laughs in the phone, and I hear a loud noise in the background. Most likely my video, because sadly I can hear my own voice singing Pour Some Sugar On It.
How embarrassing.
“Well, the video says otherwise.”
“What do you mean, says otherwise?”
“Katie, you leap into Dex’s arms, which he kinda did not look happy about and with a lemon squeezed between your lips, you force the lemon into his mouth.”
I fucking did not.
“Don’t worry. I took it down. The one of you almost falling too. Not that it’s bad press. People like to see the real sides of authors, but there are always mixed sides. It’s better to keep your personal life more to a minimum.”
This also strikes up another important question for me. “And when did I get a fan site?”
“You’re welcome. I knew you wouldn’t do it. You need one. It’s how you drive traffic to your books.”
“I don’t need traffic,” I argue.
“Yes, you do. Speaking of, you haven’t confirmed for the remainder of the tour.”
Ugh. She threw the ball.
I knew she’d wait for me to come to her, but now that damn ball is in my court to decide whether to sign or not. If I sign the contract for the remainder of the author tour, it commits me to two more signings and the final awards conference. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to take off work. Even though Dex might just fire me, so I’ll be completely free to go.
That and I’m not sure I have a reason to go anymore, anyways. I wasn’t in it for the fame or the money, so I don’t care about the signing or selling books. But Chase.
The one word that rings in my ears like a blow horn, giving me a reason to say yes to her.
“I don’t know. It’s just a lot to commit to. I’d have to work it out with Dex, and—”
“Oh, Dex, will say yes. He’s in love with you, he doesn’t know how to say no to you.”
“He is not!” He’s not.
“Whatever you say. How about Charlie Bates?”
At that I choke on air. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know, he messaged me personally, not his PR, asking me to keep the seating structure the same. He would make up any charges for the accommodations. Just was weird to me. But then I thought about how you two interacted.”
I bring out my best acting skills, rolling my eyes, scrunching my eyebrows, and give her an award-winning “Pfft.” “Dude, nothing. That guy? No way.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Dude, for real. Something’s wrong with that guy. I swear he has Tourette’s or something.”
Okay, now I’m sounding just dumb.
“Whatever you say. But if you are. Just be careful.”
“Dude, totally not.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
Can I stop acting so guilty?
“Fine. Can you just hurry up and make a decision? Your attendance is highly sought after, so I would hope you say yes to it.”
I need to really stop acting like this weirdo person I don’t recognize. I tell Kristen I need just a few more days, and I promise I’ll give her an answer by Friday. I get off the phone and abort my shoe closet makeover.
I wish I had it in me to just pick up the phone and call Chase, but I don’t. There is this thing embedded in me that tells me not to. Don’t be that girl who pretends not to see the signs. And there are signs. I can’t let go the comment about work. I’ve never hidden who I was, or where I worked. That’s who I am. Do I wish sometimes my life may have turned out differently? Sure. Everyone does. I wanted to live on a yacht with the whole My Little Pony Squad. I wanted to rent a cottage in the clouds with the Care Bears. Do you see me doing any of those right now? No. But I’m okay with that. I’m choosing how my life’s turning out and that’s good enough for me. I love the bar. I love the people I work with. All in hopes I’m not fired, of course. But Chase sounded unsure. I heard it in his voice. And as much as I want to play naïve, our phone call didn’t just magically get disconnected. He hung up on me. And it was due to whomever walked into his place.
The anger builds all over again.
I’m not calling him.
Asshole.
Fuck insecurities.
Fuck this stupid shoe closet.